Hiding in the Closet

I don't know very much about other people's sexual thoughts. I read a lot of porn stories, watch online videos, but I can't tell how much is real and how much is fantasy. Take, for example, the idea of a gangbang. In the real world, are there really women who would enjoy engaging in sex with five or six guys at one time? Really? How would we know unless we met one? So my own desires might be common, or rare, and I have no way to know.

I want my wife to cheat on me. All the way, totally have sex with other guys. I have no facts to support this, but I imagine this unusual. Lots of marriages are "open." I read so much fiction featuring orgies, hot wives, swings, and swaps, seemingly not far-fetched.

But I want my wife to cheat on me while I watch, not having sex myself. Not a threesome. And I don't want her to know I'm watching, or that I wanted her to cheat in the first place. I want my wife to be a sneaky cheating slut, fucking some other guy, and thinking I'm an oblivious fool. And I want to see her humiliate me, do the dirty. OK, so yeah, maybe pretty rare.

I started my quest simple; with a few mid-price nanny-cams and a sound-activated voice recorder at my house. These are really just trip-wires to let me know if she starts fucking around. If she does, I can upgrade the tools.

Next, I maximize her exposure and opportunity. I take her to every social event to which we can be admitted, and to all my tedious work-related parties, celebrations, and receptions. I drag her to some out of town company events, such as trainings and conventions in the nearest big city. I want as many of my acquaintances as possible to see her all dressed up and looking hot, and I want her to get used to being hit on by men we know. Like that's a problem; my wife is pretty, and has a nice figure. She is a natural beauty with perfect curves. Men look at her a lot, and like what they see.

Finally, I light a few fuses. With feigned sadness, I confess to a few horn-dog friends and co-workers that things aren't so great at home. It seems that nobody is perfectly happy at home, and people don't mind listening if you want to complain about your own marriage. Over one beer too may, I sheepishly whine that I suspect she's cheating on me. Only because we're such good friends, I can tell you the Viagra isn't quite as effective for me anymore. You know my wife, right? You tell me; she could do better, right? I'm not crazy to keep an eye on her, am I?

"No, not crazy at all," they think to themselves, maybe after I show them a bathing suit picture, "Don fucking better keep an eye on her, and on me, too, from now on." In retrospect, getting guys interested was the easiest step of all. Tell any normal guy that Jane Smith spreads her legs when she shouldn't, and he'll line up to buy himself a ticket.

***

Pete and I had worked together for over a year when he took the bait. I'd been on the panel that hired him, and he was a hotshot up-and-comer. He was hungry, and ambitious, and thought I liked him.

When he heard my sad story he took me out for a few drinks Friday after work and tried to console me. He asked for all the details, and I made a few up for him.

Sometimes, I told him, we just weren't "in the mood". She was almost always disinterested. When she was romantic, I wasn't always "performing my duties, if you know what I mean, Pete."

He nodded and supported me. "That happens to guys. Nobody gets it up every time," he lied, trying to console me.

"Yeah, but I'm not holding my end up, man, and I worry her patience will run out."

Then he started plotting. He hosted a couple of low-key parties at his house and invited several couples to join. The third party was an afternoon barbeque, with so much more mixing and informality than a drinks party, or dinner.

He was all over Tracy that afternoon, and playfully "deputized" her to help him with the food prep. This gave them some time together in the kitchen, and he turned on all his charm. He was a good-looking, engaging young man, full of personality, and my affection-starved wife responded naturally while not doing anything improper. My wife is very, very proper.

At the barbeque, I promised Pete that we'd stay behind the other guests to help him straighten up, and then I made a lengthy project out of shutting down the grill and retrieving the lawn furniture while he dawdled in the kitchen with Tracy, loading the dishwasher and pouring more drinks into my wife when he thought I wasn't looking.

We ended the day in his den, listening to some music and chilling. I soon pretended to fall asleep, and Pete and Tracy kept chatting, but now in whispers. After about 15 more minutes the room fell silent and I realized they had tiptoed out, closing the door. I was alone.

And so were they. I gave them 30 minutes together, and then "woke up". It was not my plan to catch them doing anything today. Indeed, Tracy wouldn't fall so quickly into another man's arms. I just wanted them to have some time together to get things started. Pete's behavior all day had left not the slightest doubt that he wanted to bone my wife, and by the end of the day, she seemed at least flattered, and maybe just a little bit excited. Not yet tempted; she's not a whore. At least not yet. But maybe intrigued? Too much alcohol and the constant attentions of a good looking younger man had a powerful effect on her. Made her nipples stand up a lot, which Pete noticed. Dampened her panties a little, which he couldn't notice, but I did later.

I shouted "Hey, where is everybody?" and took as long as I could to open the door, amble out, call again. I had no reason to suspect any clothing needed to be rearranged, but I wasn't taking any chances. I "found" them sitting innocently in his small home office and, after lots of pleasantries, my wife and I went home.

As soon as we got there I pretended to be fully re-energized by my "nap" and pulled Tracy into our bedroom. It wasn't a struggle - she was friskier than usual and pulled her own clothes off as we headed to the bed. We always have sex the same way, very boring I know, beginning with oral sex. She sucks me hard, I lick her wet, and then we spin around and pretend we are missionaries. I need the mini blow job to get it up. Sexy as she is, I'm not getting any younger, and she's the same broad I've been sleeping with for years. She needs the help, too, since the thought of sex with me never gets her natural juices flowing very much.

Today, unusually, I was rock hard even before my boxers dropped, and her vulva was so wet that my licking, which she prolonged, added little moisture to the soggy mess her pussy had become thanks to Pete's attentions.

And if the swampy panties hadn't signaled her arousal, what came next did - she rolled me over and mounted my cock cowgirl style. Her extended arms were braced near my shoulders and she bent forward over me so that I could chew her nipples while she pumped her pelvis, slamming it into my own. I don't know what you call the female version of premature ejaculation, but my wife came very soon, and then a second time, as she slid up and down my pole.

Then we did what we always do after sex - I ate her again. She playfully calls this making me clean up my mess. Our normal man-on-top lovemaking is usually not quite enough for her, so on a normal day, she will orgasm only after I pull out and lick her labia and nibble her clitoris. Normally, having been on her back, she stays that way and I slither down to eat my dessert after I've ejaculated. Today, however, with me on my back, she planted her crotch on my face and recycled my sperm with a gravity assist and had a third orgasm. Jeez, I wish I could do that.

It was the best sex we'd had in years. I couldn't wait to talk to Pete Monday morning. I would find a way innocently to mention that she'd been more romantic than usual after his party. Probably had too much to drink, right buddy? But he would know that he deserved the credit for cranking her up, while also thinking I'm clueless.

"Pete, great party. My wife and I had a fantastic time. And what a great house you have! I'm sorry I dozed on you at the end there. I wasn't bored, I think it was the sun and the drinks."

"You're welcome, Don. Yeah, you did look a little wasted there. How many drinks did you have?"

"I wasn't the only one. Whatever you gave my wife loosened her up, too. You'll have to teach me to be a better bartender. She was unusually frisky when we got home. It's been a long time since she dragged me to bed!"

"That's great news, cause a few weeks ago you told me things were cool-to-frosty there on the home front."

"Yeah, I don't know what thawed the Ice Princess, but she just about raped me when we got home, and that hasn't happened since never." I was trying to sound eager.

"Well, now I'm twice as happy for you, Don. It's a bummer to see friends unhappy at home. How about we grill some brats at my house again this Saturday? Too soon?"

"Normally I'd put it off a few weeks, but it would be fun to get molested again. Promise you won't get her too drunk, right? Just dial it up to 'hot to trot' and then I'll take her home and reap the benefits."

"OK, Saturday it is. You bring the booze and I'll buy the groceries, OK? We can share."

"Sharing sounds good. We'll be there."

Sharing sounded real good.

***

Do you know what told me that this was going to work for sure? When I mentioned going back to Pete's the very next weekend and Tracy didn't bitch and moan. I've been taking her out so much, to so many events that were boring to her, that she should have told me to put Pete's repeat barbeque off a month or three.

But instead, when I ran my plans by her she lit up like a little kid. Thursday evening I caught her vamping different outfits in front of her full-length mirror, trying to decide which Pete would most enjoy. And I really knew this was working when Friday night she trimmed her pubic hair way back to almost nothing, "for the bikini."

Pete and I had the same goal Saturday - warm up my wife, and we used the same tactics. He kept finding ways to do something with her while asking me to tackle some other chore. I kept leaving them alone as often as I could. This did not seem suspicious to her - sad to say, I'd been ignoring her often the last few years. Old married couples get like that, I think. At home we might pass an hour or two, me doing my thing in one room and her in another, neither one of us caring what the other was doing. We kind of met back up at bedtime.

Now I shouldn't get too far out in front of the story here. Tracy and Pete were not yet doing anything really wrong. He was just giving my middle-aged wife, the mother of our children, the full charm offensive. Friendly, smiling, a little touching. Dancing.

It had been, sad to say, many years since any man had worked so hard to make Tracy like him, and she was simmering. She was flipping her hair and touching his arms a bit too much, but if I wasn't looking for it I might not have noticed. I imagine she was all wet, loving his "male gaze." Lord knows I never looked at her that way anymore. We had been having sex so infrequently until last week that her vagina had cobwebs.

So, that day about the only time all three of us spent much time close together was the meal itself. Both before and after, I gave them space.

Pete pushed his chair back and said "Don, you've done enough today. Tracy and I can do the dishes while you watch that Army-Navy game we talked about. And with him thinking I'm a dumbass, I trotted out of the room and plopped myself in front of the TV.

Several times during the next hour I peeked out to eyeball them in the kitchen. They were always standing close, and at the end I caught him embracing her from the rear, jammed up against a counter so she couldn't escape, his lips nuzzling her neck. Muting my phone I took a photo of their hug. Then I ducked back out of the room and loudly announced the score of the game. As I came out with my empty he was rearranging his junk in his shorts, and my wife was failing to look innocent. Today had been a success, and I made an excuse to leave shortly thereafter.

Tracy's guilt caused her to be very silent on the way home, and she went straight to our bedroom when we got there. I didn't know what to make of that until she called me to join her.

She was naked on our bed and told me sexily that drinking rum all afternoon had made her horny. I knew better, and couldn't resist the childish impulse to let her know I knew better. "Rum my ass, Tracy. Pete was drooling all over you today, it's kind of a turn-on, isn't it? Did Young Romeo try to cop a feel while you two were dancing?"

I climbed into bed and, for the first time in decades, slammed my cock straight into her pussy without orally prepping her first. I wish I could write that her eyes popped open from the discomfort, but her vagina had never been wetter, my dick was no bigger than usual, and I slid in to the hilt without making much of an impression at all. She did orgasm before I was finished, which hadn't happened since forever.

Then, after I had my own cum, she pushed me down and held my head in her hands while I cleaned up my mess. After a few minutes, she turned herself around and, on her hands and knees, hovered over my exhausted body in the 69 position. She vigorously rubbed her soggy pussy all over my face while trying to blow me back to life. She kept trying even after her small second orgasm, but soon afterward gave up.

It was how she gave up that thrilled me. The love of my life totally spat out my limp dick as she lifted off of me and announced, "This thing's had it for the day, I see." I noticed as she went to wash up that the look on her face was disdain. She had finally come to wonder, in a moment of clarity, if maybe her husband just might not be good enough for her anymore.

So, strangely, while she showered and fingered herself thinking of that lump in Pete's pants, my cock got hard and I quickly brought myself to a little cum, my sperm more drooling than shooting out of my penis.

***

This Monday morning it was Pete who sought me out for coffee. "Don, how did I do? Am I still your favorite bartender?"

I knew what he was asking, and chose my words carefully. Only some of them were true, but that wasn't important.

"Pete, you may be both a great mixologist and an unsung marriage counselor. Tracy was just all over me when we got home. I'm thinking my long batting slump is over, man. All those wasted attempts to woo her with chocolates and roses, and instead I should have been making a Mai Tai!"

He worked hard not to let me see him puff up with pride. He'd held my wife in his arms, kissed her neck, maybe even fondled her breasts for all I knew. He knew he had turned her on, and her stupid husband was giving him the feedback he needed to know how successful he'd been.

Then I slid my phone across the table and showed him the picture. "Naaah, Mai Tais aren't the answer, are they Pete?" I watched his face; he would have been a great poker player.

"So here's the deal. You've done something in two days that I haven't done for a decade. You made Tracy horny as hell and gagging for a fuck. I'd be a fool to let this go. I want you to continue trying to seduce my wife. So far it's gotten me some great sex. If you pull this off you'll get some, too. Deal?"

He was still stunned, lost for something to say. I was happy he fondled my wife? I wanted him to make me a cuckold? None of this made sense to Pete. He'd chased a few married women before and even caught one or two. Any of the husbands would have beaten him senseless if they'd found out. What kind of freak was I?

"You want me to seduce Tracy?"

"I have a fantasy about watching Tracy get laid by someone else. I can't explain it, but I see on the internet that it's common. Just the picture of the mother of my children humping some other dude makes me hard as a rock. And I told you, I don't get hard that often anymore."

I gave Pete a chance to respond, but he still stared at me like one of us had farted and neither one of us wanted to mention the smell.

"You turn Tracy on. I see it. Heck, when we come home from your house I can touch her juice and smell her arousal. I know it's a stretch, but she wants to give you a ride. You're young, and you're good looking, and you're hung better than me and I'm, well, I'm her old man."

He finally spoke, "This is fucked up, Don. I mean your wife is kind of cute, and flirting with anyone is fun, but this is strange territory."

"Trust me, Pete, I know Tracy. She'd never go looking for cock, but she's going to be delighted when you offer her some, and I want to see it happen. I want to go to bed with a woman who thinks sex is for pleasure again. I'll give you a green light to go for it on three conditions."

He sat silent, waiting to hear what I was going to say.

"She cannot know that I know she's cheating. You have to act like the two of you are pulling the wool over my eyes. You're always scared I'll find out, and you act accordingly. That's number one. This doesn't work for me if she thinks it's all OK. You turn my sweet wifey into a scheming, lying, cheating whore. I want her to crawl into our bed at night smirking, proud of herself for making a chump out of me.

"Two, I get to watch, hidden camera shit. Maybe me peeping from a closet. If you're too shy and bashful to let me watch you fuck my wife, fair enough. Lotta guys would be. Maybe most guys would pass this up, all shy and private and shit. I mean, I know it is kind of creepy right, being watched while you're fucking somebody? But if I can't watch you plug her I won't play our game and this ends now.

"Three, no condoms." Now it was my turn to be silent. That last one blindsided him.

"No condoms? Is she on birth control, or do you want me to knock her up?"

"Does it matter?"

***

As thus began the happiest year of my life. My relationship with Pete changed profoundly. Before, he pitied me, the poor out-of-shape older co-worker with ED issues. I was a sad case. Worried I was losing my dear wife. Cheering me up, being a sounding board, offering me advice, it all made him feel good about himself. He actually had some concern for his friend's happiness.

Now I was an object of some contempt, a scheming creep who wanted to beat off watching my wife fuck around. I was probably gay, he thought, a closet case. I had tricked him, set him up, taken a God damned sneaky picture of him in his house. And now I wanted to use him? He was only a stunt cock to me? His feelings towards me turned from pity to dislike. He'd show that kinky old SOB what a fucked-out wife looked like! And he'd enjoy every second of it.

He knew I was using him, and he was going to let me use him, and he didn't like it. Well, when he railed my wife he was going to like it, but he wasn't going to like liking it. He was going to teach me a lesson - by giving me exactly what I wanted. He'd fuck my wife to death.

He completely agreed to my fetish and allowed me to install two cameras in his bedroom. He was smart enough to make me agree that they would only be powered on if Tracy was there. He was very proud of designing a setup that, like a Bluetooth speaker, knew when her phone was in range and only activated then. He also replaced a full-length mirror on his closet wall with a see-through, concealed on the inside. I could sit in there, remove the cover panel, and watch live as well as on streaming video.

***

We arranged another cook-out. But his time, darn it, my phone rang, and I had to go to the office for an hour. Poor me. The two garage doors were unlocked, and I could drive a block away, walk back, transit the garage and get into the closet in four minutes. Tracy remained on the rear patio while Pete walked me towards the front door. Maybe overacting a tad, I loudly called to my wife "Party without me. Save a sausage for me, OK?"